See Jane Prove
by Cora Clavia
Summary: I don't know why I thought playing chicken with Patrick Jane was going to end in my favor. - Jisbon/Jello/whatever it's called, oneshot, Lisbon POV.


**See Jane Prove**

**Summary:** "I don't know why I thought playing chicken with Patrick Jane was ever going to end in my favor." Jello/Jisbon/whatever it's called these days, from Lisbon's POV; I've very proud to announce that this is not much more than PWP.  
**Rating:** um, let's say T, just to be safe  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Mentalist_ or its characters; I write purely for my own amusement, and make absolutely no profit off this.

* * *

Miracle of miracles, we were off early on Thursday night, so we ended up unwinding at a local bar. Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho took over the pool table. I'm pretty terrible at pool, so I begged out and watched from the comfort of a barstool.

To my surprise, Jane joined me, saying something about pool being a lot harder to figure out than human behavior. He was in a good mood, and surprisingly, so was I. I was more relaxed than I'd been in weeks, and in spite of myself, was enjoying his company. I wasn't up to drive home, so I was enjoying my beer, and we got into a friendly conversation that meandered quite a bit before ending up on the subject of what a mentalist can do.

And he made the mistake of claiming that a truly skilled mentalist could even seduce a woman, any woman, as easily as hypnotizing them.

"Bullshit." I grinned. "Sorry to break it to you, Jane, but women are not as easy to seduce as you think."

"I disagree. In fact –" his eyes brightened " – I could even seduce you. If I really tried."

I scoffed. Now he was just flattering himself. "Not a chance."

"I mean it. I could."

"_Without_ hypnotizing me? Yeah, right."

"Wouldn't need to."

"Prove it." No way in hell he could.

"You really want me to?"

"Come on, Casanova Jane. Show me what a helpless, clichéd damsel I am."

It was the alcohol talking. It had to be. Because it wasn't until the next day that I would realize what I had done, which was give Patrick Jane permission to strip away all my self-control. Damn you, alcohol.

"Fine." He shrugged. "Stand up."

I decided to humor him, setting down my bottle as I rose from my seat. This was going to be fun –

Then before I could react to it, his hands touched my shoulders and he pushed me back, until my back hit the wall, and suddenly all I could see was him. I looked down in confusion – this was a little too much, too fast – but I felt his fingers on my chin, gently turning my face back to meet his. My heart started to hammer at the sudden closeness, with an admittedly very attractive man invading my personal space so easily.

He started to trace the line of my jaw, and then I felt his other hand creeping under the hem of my shirt, burning into my skin. My eyes went wide, and in spite of myself I gasped.

"What are you doing?"

"Exactly what you told me to." He saw the hesitation in my face. "Relax, Teresa," he murmured, running his hands slowly down my arms. "I'll be gentle."

This was _not_ what I signed up for. Thankfully we were tucked in a dim corner, where light was poor, giving us at least a little privacy. I swallowed, eyeing him with sudden fear. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy to win as I thought it would be.

I don't know why I ever thought playing chicken with Patrick Jane was ever going to end in my favor.

But, my traitorous, slightly loosened brain pointed out slyly, he smelled really, really good.

He nudged his knee between my thighs, parting them gently, which effectively took away any control I might have thought I had. My hands clenched nervously, but he smoothed them into loosening, stepping in close enough that I could feel every inch of his body pressing me into the wall. He leaned in, and my head spun from the scent of him as his hands traveled back up my arms, lifting them gently so that my hands were on his shoulders, then traveling down and making gentle, almost painful contact with my sides before tracing just below my breasts, close enough to make my breath hitch in my throat but just far away enough to keep me biting my lip, trying to keep my mind working.

And then one thumb moved up a few inches and started rubbing, and I shuddered and my eyes shut, as if I could somehow escape, but a second later I felt his lips on my throat and I was lost. I stifled a groan, my head falling back against the wall as I pulled him closer and his hands gently pulled my hips into him – as if we could get any closer – and without thinking I pressed myself against him, an ache low in my belly and spreading, his tongue tracing the line of my collarbone. I ran my hands through that curly hair, feeling his sharp intake of breath as my fingernails scraped lightly at his scalp before he dove back in and made me forget my own name and his hands slowly started to undo the top button of my shirt.

I felt the faintest brush of his lips on my cheek, my jaw, and finally the corner of my mouth, before I felt them curve into a smile and he reached up, brushing my hair back as his lips found the hollow behind my ear and my eyes rolled back in my head as I had to remember that it was _not_ OK to start moaning his name.

"Do you want me?" he whispered hotly into my ear as I bit my lips to keep a strangled moan from escaping. Oh my God, yes. I want you. You can take me right here. Or outside. Or back at my place. Just _please_ don't stop – I tried to speak, say something, anything, but nothing came out.

Opening my eyes, I stared dumbly at him, his face just a breath away from mine. He slowly pulled away, and I actually had to catch myself before I fell. My whole body was trembling, and it took effort not to go with him and finish what I had stupidly told him to start.

But as I met his eyes again, he didn't look smug or triumphant, the way I'd have expected. He was staring at me with a look somewhere between stunned surprise and something I couldn't place. And it looked like his breathing was just as shallow as mine.

I looked back towards the pool tables, afraid of the inevitable raised eyebrows, but to my surprise, nobody was looking at us. They were laughing and Van Pelt was giving Cho a hard time as he grumbled about a bad shot. Are you kidding me? They missed this whole thing?

Don't get me wrong, I was thankful. Cho's eyebrows probably would've gotten sprained, he would've raised them so far. But I was dumbfounded. How did the entire world not just see that?

He mumbled something about being tired and fled much more quickly than I ever thought I'd see him go. No one stopped him, or even commented on how flustered he looked (and I felt).

In retrospect, I am eternally grateful to Rigsby for volunteering to drive that night. Because the only other person OK to drive was Jane, and given what he had just done (with my permission) in the bar, I am willing to believe that had he driven me home, one thing might have led to another and before we knew it we'd have been going at it up against my front door, colleagues or not.

Rigsby dropped me off at home and I waved goodnight, closing the door behind me and collapsing against it as I finally let my knees give out. Patrick Jane just seduced me. Holy _shit_. I was no babe in the woods, but I had never felt like that before. Giddy and scared and eager all at once. And he never even kissed me.

Damn it, Jane, I should not be allowed to drink alcohol around you!

But the most surprising thing was the look on his face afterwards. It wasn't his typical smirk, or even the pleased little grin he gets sometimes. He looked just as scared as I had felt. And he damn well looked like he'd been enjoying it just as much as I had.

* * *

That night the dream that filled my sleep was vivid, lifelike, gloriously filled with sensory detail, and not remotely PG, and I woke Friday morning sweaty and blushing. Then, looking at the mirror while brushing my teeth, I discovered my first hickey in over ten years, spread in full blooming Technicolor across my throat. So much for trying to pretend none of this happened.

So after trying in vain to mask it with makeup, I wore a turtleneck to work – something I don't often do, seeing as we live in California – but thankfully, no one questioned me as I walked in. God, this was terrible. I had no idea what I was going to do when he showed up. After the dream I'd enjoyed way too much, I wasn't even going to be able to look at him without blushing. Even if he hadn't been Patrick Jane, human polygraph, it would have been extremely obvious that his presence in my sleep last night was energetic, uninhibited, and extremely naked. Hell, I was afraid even Rigsby would figure it out.

I had gotten in at eight, and it wasn't long before the other CBI agents wandered in, completely at ease, tossing me nods as I sat in my office reading through a few new case files. At least it gave me time to calm down. Thank God he was less punctual than the rest of my team.

After twenty minutes of uninterrupted reading, my heart rate had slowed back down somewhat and I had calmed down. Naturally, he chose that moment to appear in the main office, brandishing coffee and pastry, which delighted Rigsby. I bit my lip but stayed where I was, watching the mild feeding frenzy from the safety of my office.

He surveyed everyone with satisfaction, seeing that he'd gotten enough to feed the whole team, before turning to my office. I dropped my eyes hastily, hoping he hadn't seen me openly staring at him but knowing perfectly well that he had. I tried to slow my breathing, which had suddenly gotten shallow – calm _down_, Teresa! – but I couldn't help it. He looked good this morning. I may not have noticed it so clearly before, but he looked damn good. And now he was walking towards his couch, probably to sleep away the morning (while I pretended to read and stared at him).

But then he walked right past his couch and towards my office with an unusually determined stride. He opened the door without knocking, and I stood, unwilling to give him any more height advantage than he already had. But he didn't say anything, just fixed me with those bright blue eyes.

"What?"

He never stopped moving; in one swift motion, he pushed me back against the wall, took my face in his hands, and kissed me. And despite my best intentions, which lasted all of two seconds, my hands were in his hair and his tongue was in my mouth and I didn't fight him at all. The kiss was hungry and desperate, seeing as we'd both been waiting for it the entire night.

He let me go eventually, both of us trying to breathe evenly, but stayed where he was, pinning me against the wall as I leaned against his chest. I could feel his heart racing under my hand.

"What was that for?" I asked, my voice hesitant and a little shaky.

"You wanted it as much as I did."

I didn't bother trying to deny it. My God, the man was a good kisser.

"But why now?"

"I was thinking about it all night." Well, in a way, so was I. Though to be fair, my thinking about that had led to me thinking about some very unprofessional behavior involving this very office. And my handcuffs. Not that I was going to tell him that. But he continued. "And about our bet. You won."

That caught my attention, and I frowned, confused. "No, you did. You did what you said you'd do."

"I said I could seduce any woman."

"Exactly."

"But you're not just any woman."

**FINE**


End file.
